


Ale's Well That Ends Well

by 70SecretKinks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drinking, Eventual Smut, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Post CA: TWS, Rating May Change, Yeah - that rating changed in Ch. 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/70SecretKinks/pseuds/70SecretKinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does a Super Soldier who can't get drunk do when he needs a shot of Liquid Courage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starbucksXlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbucksXlove/gifts), [The Notorious Trollop Vo the Terrible (Voishen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voishen/gifts).



> This story was created in response to the following prompt from starbucksXlove:
> 
> \-- Steve is so nervous about telling Bucky that he loves him that he asks Thor for some Asgardian alcohol, gets drunk and finally confesses his feelings but makes a complete meatball of himself in front of Bucky in the process :)
> 
> I hope you like it!!!
> 
> I'm also gifting this work to the incredibly talented, totally awesome human that is The Notorious Trollop Vo the Terrible (Voishen). The Trollop's works are always a perfect blend of humorous and hot and never stray too far down "Angst Avenue" for long, which I always appreciate and tend to replicate in all of my own works. Anyway, for being so supportive and awesome - this one's for you too. Cheers!

“You’re going down Barton!!  You and Wario,” Bucky goaded.

“In your dreams, Barnes,” the archer replied.  “I’m gonna leave you and your cute little Koopa Troopa in the dust.  Pfffft…Koopa Troopa,” Clint mumbled under his breath while he shook his head in obvious disdain.

The two deadly assassins/overgrown children settled into the massive black leather sectional sofa centered in the heart of the luxuriously appointed common room of Avengers Tower.  They playfully elbowed one another as they selected characters and cars for the race, taunting one another every step of the way.  Steve sat at the bar just off to the side and watched them, a small smile pulling up his lips.  He couldn’t help it.  Bucky looked so relaxed.  His shaggy, shoulder length hair was loosely tied back at the nape of his neck—unintentional, errant strands falling out to perfectly frame his undeniably handsome, stubble-covered face.  Even wearing his favorite pair of soft, tattered grey sweatpants and the faded black S.H.I.E.L.D. t-shirt he’d permanently borrowed from Steve, Bucky looked like a damn Abercrombie model.

Steve’s smile grew even wider as he watched his inherently lethal friends engage in an impassioned round of “rock/paper/scissors” to determine who got to choose the course for their pending race.  Sometimes it was difficult for Steve’s brain to reconcile the image of the boisterous, seemingly blithe man before him arguing heatedly over a trivial game with the shattered, haunted shell of a man who’d come back to him from the dead with little-to-no memories of the life James Buchanan Barnes had left behind while unwittingly acting as the feared fist of Hydra.

Nearly a full year had passed since the Winter Soldier had finally stopped running and turned himself in.  Months of therapy and endless hours of counseling did little to restore Bucky’s memories of his life before ‘the fall’.  He couldn’t recall where he’d lived or went to school, his job on the docks or the day he shipped out with the 107th.  But there was one thing he’d apparently never forgotten.  Steve.  He was able to recall images of a ‘defiant bag of skin and bones’ who Bucky knew above all else he was supposed to protect.  And so he did.  On school yard and battlefield.  In the depths of the Potomac.  When it mattered the most, he remembered Steve Rogers.  Knew he was worth saving.  Worth living for.

So Steve didn’t really care if he looked a little like a sentimental fool as he stared unabashedly at his best friend, an increasingly dopey grin spreading over his face.  Bucky was having fun and in a way that Steve wasn’t sure he would ever be able to again following seven painful decades of depravation, degradation, manipulation and abuse.  Yet here he was.  Brave and beautiful and still the biggest competitive shit he’d ever had the pleasure to know.  Guess some things never do change.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you?” Bucky nudged Clint with his knee as the animated countdown for their race began.  He looked over at Steve wearing a familiar cocky grin that would snap the panties off of every dame in the dancehall back in their day and gave him a knowing wink.

Steve knew that little, innocuous gesture shouldn’t have an effect on him but there was no use denying that it did.  His pulse began to race, his cheeks warmed with the pink blush that painted them, he felt butterflies in his belly, and his pants pulled tighter as his cock began to swell with arousal.  Christ but he had it bad for Bucky.  Thinking back on everything now, he realized he probably always had.  Now, if he only had the balls to actually man up and do something about it.  To tell the only other person in the universe who had ‘shared life experiences’ how he really felt.  To let Bucky know just how much he loved him.  As a friend, a brother in arms, and beyond.  Steve wanted to be so much more than what they were and had always been.  He’d waited ninety-five years to give himself fully—emotionally and physically—to the one special person who held his heart.  And now he didn’t want to waste another second.

Steve sighed loudly as he picked up the square glass tumbler he’d filled with Tony’s private stock of aged single malt scotch.  He swirled the amber whiskey around and took a moment to inhale the familiar aroma—slightly medicinal with a hint of smoke.  He took a sip and rolled it around his tongue before swallowing it down, feeling it warm his insides for the briefest of moments before the booze burned away in his genetically enhanced bloodstream.

Steve never regretted volunteering for Project Rebirth.  The gifts he’d been given… the opportunities to help save so many.  He was destined to be Captain America and truly proud to carry the shield.  But at times like this, he couldn’t help but lament this one, extremely annoying side effect of the Serum.  If he’d had known back then what he soon learned after his transformation, he’d have taken that shot of Schnapp’s with Dr. Erskine the night before his procedure.  Consequences be damned.  Hell, for more than a few reasons he only recognized in hindsight, he’d have finished the whole damn bottle.

Steve was suddenly shaken from his reverie by the sound of Bucky and Clint’s profanity-laced banter as they jostled on the couch with their controllers in hand.  He sighed again and unceremoniously drained the rest of his drink with only a passing thought about just how much Tony must’ve paid for the limited reserve bottle.  As far as he was concerned it was worthless.  The purest, most potent scotch in world couldn’t give Steve what he really wanted.  What he needed.  An ounce of liquid courage.

In fact, thanks to the metabolism the Super Soldier Serum gave him, it would take gallons upon gallons of Tony’s finest scotch to catch anything even approaching a buzz.  And then the buzz would be irritatingly mitigated by endless trips to the bathroom as all of those gallons flew through his system.  There was only one type of alcohol Steve had ever tried that had caused him inebriation in its intended dosage: Thor’s Asgardian Ale.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve said as Thor appeared at the bar from the hallway behind it.

“Which Devil, Friend Steve?” Thor asked, genuinely concerned.  “Mephistopheles?  Hel?  Dormammu?  Blackheart?  One of the lesser demons?  Sometimes humans mistake Fire Giants for Devils, though it is a rare thing for a human to see a Fire Giant.”

Steve stifled a chuckle, “It’s just a saying,” he said.  “It means I was thinking about you, and then as if on cue, you showed up.”

“Ahhh, I see,” said Thor.  “So there is no Devil, then?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“That is the problem with Devils: one is not aware of them until it is too late,” Thor said, his tone both knowing and cautionary.

“Right.  Well.  Anyway.”  Steve clasped his hands together.  “So, Thor old buddy, you have any more of that Asgardian Ale?”

“Of course.  We have casks of it so large they fill entire halls.  We could drink from now until Ragnarok and not run dry.”

“Good,” said Steve.  “So you have some to spare then?”

“Verily!” Thor cheered.  “I shall bring enough for all of us to toast a thousand battles.”

“That’s great, big guy.  But do you happen to have any on you now?”

“Sadly no, my friend.  I drank the last of it myself.  Nary a drop of it remains.”

Steve’s smile immediately faded.  “Huh… Well then…”

He pondered his options for a moment, trying to decide on the best course of action.  Steve immediately seized upon the notion that his greatest hope was to inconvenience his compatriot.

“You think maybe you could go back to Asgard and get some… now?”

Thor was confused.  “Right now?” he asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Steve quickly added.

“I was not planning on returning to Asgard presently,” Thor said, still confused.

“Right.  I get that.  But could you?  It’s not too hard though.  Right?  You just yell up at Heimdall and then he beams you up?  Or whatever.  Then you grab some, and beam right back.  Like running to the corner store.”

“Opening the Bifrost is not a casual task, my friend.  It requires a tremendous amount of energy.  It is not a toy to be used spuriously.”

Steve slumped back against the bar.  “Yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Of what import could Asgardian Ale be?” Thor asked.  “You are surrounded by so much of Stark’s alcoholic earthly delights.”  He motioned to all the high-end bottles surrounding them.

“Thanks to the Super Soldier Serum none of these 'earthly delights' can get me buzzed, let alone drunk.  And I think I need to be closer to drunk.”

Thor smiled.  “Ahhh yes, I know what you mean.  The liquors of Earth can be delicious in their own ways, but they have little more effect on me than water.  Truly, men like us require sterner stuff.”

Steve looked defeated.  “Yeah.  I guess it’s our cross to bear,” he agreed.

“I bear no cross, Steve.  Mjolnir is a hammer.  Though bearing a great sword or battle axe is not unfamiliar to me.”

Steve cracked a bit of a grin.  “You’re the best, buddy,” he said, giving the Asgardian a playful punch in the arm.

“As are you,” laughed Thor, delighted by the compliment.  “What revelries had you planned that you seek Asgardian Ale?”

“Not revelries exactly.  More like I could use a bit of the ol’ Liquid Courage.”

“What need have you for more courage?  What battle must you face that the mortal whose courage knows no equal finds even his courage lacking?”

Steve chuckled, “That’s nice of you to say.  But there’s no battle.  I need it for more… ‘romantic’ pursuits.”

Thor guffawed so loudly that both Clint and Bucky turned from their game to look back at them.  “Haha!  That, friend Steve, THAT is a challenge we all know too well.  Not Stark of course.  But everyone else has had to slay that giant at one time or another.”

Thor grabbed two pint glasses and set them on the bar.  Then he indiscriminately grabbed a bottle of liquor, which just happened to be a $500 bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, and filled up both glasses.  Thor handed a glass to Steve and raised his own to propose a toast.  “To romantic pursuits, and to needing sterner stuff than this for the chase.”  They clinked glasses.  Steve sipped from his while Thor swallowed a mouthful that emptied half the glass.

“For mortal fare, this is smooth,” he said, impressed with the scotch.

“You’re lucky Tony is doing the shopping,” Steve said.  “I assure you this is the exception, not the rule of ‘mortal fare’.”

“So…” said Thor, after downing the rest of his glass, “which damsel has caught your eye?  Agent Carter?  She seems a fine pairing for you.  Or mayhaps Maria Hill?  She’s quite the beauty.  If it was not for my fear of the wrath of Jane I would gladly show her a glimpse of Valhalla in my chambers.”

“Nope, not either of those,” Steve said, taking another sip.  Thor’s eyes grew wide.

“It is not Natasha, is it?  By the All-Father’s one good eye, no wonder you require courage.  I think I would rather tell the Lady Sif that her feminine nether parts smelled of Bilgesnipe scat midway through coitus than attempt to seduce Natasha.  I would bring you enough Ale to lay low the Warrior’s Three if she is your cause.  You would need it.”

Steve almost spit out his drink.  “No, it’s not Natasha.  I’d need whatever the Asgardian equivalent of cocaine is to bark up that wildly intimidating tree.”

“Aye, verily.  There truly is not enough Ale in the whole of the Nine Realms to risk her scorn.”

Steve was nodding in agreement when Bucky walked up.

“Barton’s a fuckin’ cheater,” he said as he opened the fridge behind the bar and grabbed two beers.  “I’m in my 90s.  I’m too fuckin’ old for this shit.”  Bucky took the beers back to the game without detailing exactly why Barton was a cheater.

“Ah HA!” Thor bellowed.  “Tis James who requires your courage!”

“What?  No.  What?”  Steve took another drink of scotch, a big mouthful this time, to stop himself from protesting too much.

Thor laughed heartily.  “You lie, good Captain,” he said.  “Your whole person changed in the moment James stood next to you.  Your face flushed scarlet, you stood up straight, flexed your muscles and puffed out your chest.  You acted like every young lad who has tried to impress their first love.”

“I did?” Steve asked.  He was shocked to discover he was being that obvious.

“I would not need to be Heimdall to see it,” said Thor.

“And you don’t care?”

“Care of what?” Thor asked.  “Care that you love another man?  Not at all.  I dare say Loki has bedded half the men of Asgard.  Even Fandral has been known to swim in that pond.  Though in his case I think it was because he had already conquered every female in the Nine Realms and was in need of a new challenge.”

Steve relaxed, obviously relieved.

“I assumed you were courting a passing fancy,” Thor said, “but clearly you are smitten.  I shall return to Asgard post-haste and retrieve that which you require.”

“Verily?” Steve asked, elated.

“Fuckin’ verily,” Thor promised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting the conclusion to this fic or anything else for that matter. Alas, life goes on as does my will and desire to write. So, without further ado, the rest of my tale about the power of Ale. Cheers!!!

The following day, Steve awoke before sunrise, as he usually did, and headed out for his daily jog with Sam.  And, since it was Saturday, they followed their brisk 5 mile run at their favorite all-night diner where they’d ordered enough food to feed a small army, leaving their table littered with piles of empty plates.  Most of it was for Steve, of course.  His enhanced metabolism burned through a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon like it burned through Tony’s top-shelf booze.  Quickly and efficiently.

It was just after 9:30 when Steve returned to the tower and the massive apartment that he shared there with Bucky.  He expected to find his best friend in his usual morning locale—lounging comfortably on their oversized, leather sofa wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, a large mug of coffee in one hand and his Stark tablet in the other.  So when he stepped onto their floor and found it vacant, he was a little surprised but not overly concerned.  He grabbed an ice cold bottle of water from the fridge before retreating to his private suite to shower and shave.  When he emerged twenty minutes later to a still empty common area, he began to worry.  He walked quickly down the hall to Bucky’s room.  The door was open and the bed had been made but there was no sign of Bucky.  Steve called out for him as he strode back towards the kitchen.  “Bucky?”

“Pardon me, Captain,” Jarvis’ dulcet voice sounded.  “Sergeant Barnes left the apartment approximately twenty-seven minutes ago to meet Agent Barton in the Tower shooting range to challenge him to a quote, ‘real fucking test of skill’.  End quote.  Would you like me to notify Sergeant Barnes of your interest in his whereabouts?”

Steve took a deep, relieved breath and chuckled.  “No, Jarvis.  That won’t be necessary.  Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” the A.I. replied.  “Oh, and Captain Rogers?”

“Yes?”

“Thor has asked me to inform you that he has retrieved the item that he promised to you evening last.  He left said item for you in Sir’s wine room.”

“What?  There’s something like 5,000 bottles of wine in there!” Steve stated in an obvious panic.

“Thor anticipated your chagrin, Captain and instructed me to tell you the following...”  The A.I. seemed to pause for effect.  “The vessel you seek is unique and strong.  Like your love.”

Steve rolled his eyes and laughed.  “Well, alright then.  Thanks again Jarvis,” he said before making a mad dash to Tony’s wine room.

“My pleasure, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis replied to the now-vacant apartment.

Steve scanned the seemingly endless store of rare, vintage wine bottles in search of his prize.  He’d just turned the corner to examine the next row when his foot bumped into something big and solid, making the usually nimble super soldier stumble clumsily towards a floor-to-ceiling rack filled with gold-wrapped magnums of ‘99 Roederer Cristal.  Fortunately, his enhanced reflexes quickly kicked in, helping to right himself before he broke a single one of the nearly two hundred, $3,500-a-piece bottles of champagne that were nestled securely in the custom made racks.  Steve exhaled a loud sigh of relief and knelt down to examine the obstacle that had unexpectedly blocked his path.  There on the floor, sat a small, rustic-looking cask.  Steve guessed by the size of the petite, wooden barrel that it likely held five gallons of Ale.  Surely more than he’d require to bolster his courage and loosen his inhibitions.  He picked it up and tucked it under his arm.  “Thank you Thor!” he exclaimed aloud to no one as he hurried excitedly out of the wine room and back to his floor of the Tower.

Steve’s plan was simple.  He’d make Bucky’s favorite meal for supper—meatloaf and mashed potatoes—using a recipe he’d found online that most resembled what he remembered of Mrs. Barnes’ best dish.  While he chopped, diced, stirred, and whipped, he’d sip slowly on a shot glass of amber gold.  Sampling just enough to help him relax a bit, giving Steve the long-lost-but-never-forgotten feeling of a pleasant alcohol buzz.  Then, he’d pour two full glasses of the Asgardian Ale for each of them to accompany their meal.  If Steve’s best guess was accurate, by the time they took their last bites of the homemade apple pie he’d intended to bake using his own mother’s award-winning recipe, they’d both be warm and loose.  Open to new… possibilities.

The thing about Asgardian Ale is, after being aged for over a thousand years, not only is it exceedingly potent, it’s also incredibly smooth and undeniably delicious.  So as Steve set to work in their impressively equipped chef’s kitchen, a few small, satisfying sips soon turned into seven filled-to-the-brim shots.  Maybe eight.  Who has time to count these things?

Steve managed to get the pie and meatloaf into the oven before fully succumbing to the impressive effects of the Ale.  When Bucky finally returned to their apartment, Steve was three sheets to the wind and attempting to peel a potato with a throwing knife.  A full bag of unpeeled potatoes was soaking in one of the double sinks, and in the other sink lay the hacked off, ravaged remains of peels and potato chunks.  In a pot on the stove filled with far too much water were two potatoes so ridiculously peeled they looked more like white carrot sticks.  Steve held a third potato, slashing away at it with all the deftness of the Hulk on Quaaludes and muscle relaxers, if Quaaludes and muscle relaxers worked on the Hulk.

“Whatcha got going there, champ?” Bucky asked.  The kitchen looked like Steve lost a fight with an army of Ultrons constructed entirely out of vegetables.

“I’ve prepared you a meal fit for a king!” Steve announced, still slashing away at the potato.  “It’s a surprise.  Meatloaf.  The surprise is meatloaf.  So really it’s a meal fit for a king of Brooklyn.  Are you surprised?”

“I can honestly say I could not be more surprised right now,” Bucky said, wide-eyed.  “Is that one of my good throwing knives?”

Steve held up what was left of the potato he was peeling.  “What?  No.  This is a potato, James.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky muttered under his breath.  “How ‘bout I give you a hand with that?  I don’t want to have to explain to Fury how the world’s greatest soldier lost a finger on KP duty.”

Bucky rummaged through a drawer until he found a vegetable peeler.  He traded it to Steve for the throwing knife, and then found a paring knife to use himself.  Bucky stood next to Steve and began peeling potatoes as well.

“Just like old times,” Steve giggled, playfully bumping his hip into Bucky’s.

“You’re drunk, right?” Bucky asked.  “Please tell me you’re drunk and you’re not having a stroke.  You’re 97.  97 year-olds have strokes.  Or were you poisoned?  Did Viper sneak in here and dose you with some kind of weird Hydra toxin?”

“I’m not drunk!” Steve declared.  “Here, drink this.”  He handed Bucky the glass of Ale.

“Oof, what is this?  Terpentine?”  Bucky asked as he took a whiff of the amber liquid.

“Drink it,” commanded Steve.  “It’s good for you.  It’ll put hair on that perfectly sculpted chest of yours.”

Bucky eyed the drink warily.  Steve was smiling from ear to ear in anticipation.  The former Winter Soldier took a long, slow sip.  He swirled it around in his mouth and then swallowed.

“Sweet Sunny Jesus!  That shit is POTENT.  What the hell is this?”  Bucky took another sip, this time bracing himself appropriately for the impact.

“It’s Asgardian Ale.  Thor gave it to me.”  Steve beamed as though he’d won a contest.

“Thor?  Good lord.  No good will come from this.”

“I certainly hope not,” Steve said slyly.

Bucky took a third drink, this time more gulp than sip.  “It’s so smooth in your mouth, but then you swallow it and it feels like someone popped your skull open and smashed your brain with a sledge hammer.”

“Yup,” Steve agreed.  “You should drink more.”  He poured Bucky a tumbler of his own to drink, though by the time he handed it to Bucky, Steve was wearing a good portion of it.  The two compatriots continued drinking and peeling until the pot was overflowing with nearly a full bag of meticulously peeled potatoes and four sad, mangled chunks of potato shrapnel.

“Why don’t you let me handle this?” Bucky suggested, redistributing the potatoes so they’d boil without potentially burning the Tower down.  Steve acquiesced, clumsily settling onto a bar stool at the kitchen island.

“It really is like old times,” Steve said wistfully.  “I get myself in over my head and you charge in to save the day.  It’s like high school all over again.”

“I really don’t remember much of high school,” Bucky confessed.  “Just bits and pieces here and there.”

“You were my knight in shining armor,” said Steve.  “Heh, and now you really do have shining armor.”  And then, because no one’s comedic timing is better than a drunk’s, Steve burped loudly.

Bucky laughed at his friend as he poured himself another glass of Ale.  The Ale was really starting to affect him, though he was nowhere near caught up to Steve in that department.

“You used to laugh like that at me in high school,” Steve said.  “You used to think it was funny how much I admired you.  You didn’t see what was so special about yourself.  But I did.”

“You always such a sap when you’re drunk?” Bucky asked as he perched himself on the stool next to Steve’s and reached over to muss the blond’s hair affectionately.  Steve closed his eyes and leaned unconsciously into the touch, humming contentedly.

“Can’t really say.  I’ve only been really drunk one other time in my life.  We couldn’t really afford to go out drinking much before the war.  But the day Ma died, you spent everything you had to buy me a bottle of hooch.  We sat out on the fire escape and got completely shit-faced.”  Steve sniffled and took another sip before chuckling quietly.  “I thought Mr. O’Reilly was gonna call the cops after I puked three stories down onto the hood of his car.  Good thing he liked Ma so much or else I think he probably would’ve.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s broad shoulders in consolation.  “I remember her,” Bucky said with a gentle squeeze.  “Your Ma was a real angel, Steve.  So good.  Virtuous.  You’re just like her, ya know?”

Steve laughed shyly, his cheeks flushing pink.  “That’s me.  Pure as the driven snow,” he replied with a sigh before tipping his head back to drain the rest of his drink.

Bucky knocked the rest of his mostly full tumbler back too, hissing at the still powerful burn as he refilled their glasses as soon as they hit the counter.

“You’re not _that_ innocent, Rogers,” Bucky said as he got up to stir their now rapidly boiling spuds.

“Being drunk… everything else… I missed out on a lot going straight from a puny high school kid to war to being frozen for most of the really good times of the past seven plus decades.”

“Oh yeah?  What was so important that you missed out on?”  Bucky asked as he pierced a chunk of potato with a fork to test it.  “You’re no hippie, so you didn’t miss out on the drugs.  You hate dancing, so you didn’t miss out on disco.  You probably would’ve loved Reagan, and you definitely would’ve loved the fall of communism, but otherwise you dodged a bullet on the whole 1980s.”

Steve traced a finger along the edge of his tumbler, staring into the golden liquid as if it held the answers to all of his problems.  He opened his mouth to speak closed it again, clearly unsure of what to say next.  _Liquid courage… right._   He took another gulp of Ale, eyeing Bucky’s expectant stare over the rim of his glass as he swallowed.  Steve slammed the glass down a little harder than intended and suddenly blurted, “You ever been in love?”

Satisfied that the potatoes needed more time to soften, Bucky returned to his stool.  “Not that I remember.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, doing his best to hide the pang of disappointment at his friend’s honest admission.

“What about you?” Bucky asked.  “Wasn’t there some feisty dame you had your eye on in Azzano?  An agent, right?”

Steve cast a sidelong look at Bucky, a small smile curving up the corner of his mouth.  He couldn’t help how proud and pleased he felt each time his tormented friend was able to pull a clear memory from the confines of his tortured mind.

“Agent Carter.  Peggy,” he answered fondly.  “She was something else, Buck.  I definitely had feelings for her.  Not sure if it was really ‘love’… we barely knew each other.”  Steve took another draw of his drink, his jaw clenched tight, eyes glinting with regret and anger.  “I never got the chance to find out what it could be.  A crazy, red-faced freak made sure of that.”

A sympathetic frown formed on Bucky’s face.  “I’m sorry, pal.”  Steve just shrugged his shoulders in response.

“At least I got to kiss her once,” Steve said.  “Granted, it happened while I was hanging on to a speeding car in front of Colonel Phillips moments before I literally jumped onto the plane I wound up intentionally downing in the Artic.”  Steve exhaled a loud sigh as he stretched out over the counter, laying his head down on his arms.  He turned his head to the side to look at Bucky through one glassy eye.  “I woke up seventy years later.  Alone.”

Bucky blinked a few times before his eyes grew wide as realization dawned in his increasingly alcohol-dulled brain.  “Christ, Steve.  Does that mean… Are you still a fuckin’ virgin?”

Steve worried his bottom lip bashfully between his teeth before burrowing his head into the crook of his elbow, trying to his best to hide and ignore the question.

“Here, I thought Stark was just being an uncreative ass all this time,” Bucky said incredulously as he patted Steve on the shoulder.

“Nah, he’s actually really creative,” Steve mumbled matter-of-factly into his sleeve.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Bucky pressed on.

Steve pushed back up to a sitting position, swaying a bit in his chair.  As the room began to tilt before him, the super soldier giggled at the long-forgotten sensation of being out of balance.

“I think I might need a little more Ale if you want me to answer that one,” he said coyly, sliding his near-empty glass towards his secret crush for a top off.

Bucky didn’t pour him a refill.  Instead he drained his own glass with one loud gulp, cleared his throat, and turned in his seat until he was fully facing Steve.  "Is there, uh, anyone else you’ve ever wanted to kiss since then?"

Steve chuckled nervously as he looked up at Bucky through the thick fan of his eyelashes.  He couldn’t help but stare at the very answer to the question at hand.  He fixed his eyes on his best friend’s plush, tempting lips, instinctively licking at his own as he shifted a little closer to Bucky.  His increasingly heated gaze flicked uncertainly between Bucky’s perfectly sinful mouth and his beautiful, steel-gray eyes.  Bucky slowly leaned in towards Steve, tilting his head in a deliberate, measured advance.  Steve closed his eyes and puckered his lips in anticipation when he was startled back by the sudden sound of hissing steam.  The forgotten potatoes had boiled over in their pot, splashing starchy hot water all over the stove.

Bucky jumped up immediately and raced towards the stove.  Steve hopped up one step behind, his reflexes marginally more dulled than his quick-footed friend’s.  Bucky grabbed the pot with his mechanical hand and lifted it up from the splattered cooktop.  In that same second, he heard Steve flailing behind him as he slipped on one of the many piles of errant potato skin peels scattered about the smooth tile floor.  Quick as a whip, Bucky reached back behind him, grabbed Steve by the front of his shirt and yanked him in to his side.

Tragedy averted, Bucky heaved a loud sigh of relief.  Not only had he saved Steve from falling, he’d done so somehow without spilling a drop of the scalding hot water on either of them.  He set the pot down on the stove and turned off the burner without loosening his grip on Steve.  Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s toned waist and looked him in the eyes with nothing short of awed admiration and unbridled affection.

"You're my hero, Buck.  You've always been my hero,” Steve said turning to stand face-to-face with his savior.

Bucky smiled modestly, resting his hands gently on the blond’s hips.  Even in his inebriated state, Steve knew it was now or never.

“I love you,” he declared with a warm smile.  Bucky grinned back and rolled his eyes as though Steve had stated the most obvious thing in the world.

“I love you too, punk,” he answered automatically.

Steve shook his head ‘no’ and stared back into Bucky’s eyes with all of Captain America’s unwavering determination.  “I mean I’m _in_ love with you.  I... I wanna do things with you I’ve never done with anyone else,” he stammered, stealing a glance down towards Bucky’s crotch.  “I wanna be with you.  Like, in the biblical sense.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and looked up towards the ceiling in contemplation.  “I don’t think you’re using ‘biblical’ correctly--,” he started before Steve impatiently interrupted.

“Whatever.  I’m trying to tell you I want you, ya jerk.”

Bucky smirked and tightened his grip on Steve’s hips, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against one another.

“Yeah, I think I got that part,” he replied with a husky voice before leaning in to press their lips together in a tentative kiss.

Steve made a pleased sounding hum as they stood there together in the middle of the kitchen exchanging sweet, chaste kisses.  He drew one hand up Bucky’s spine, stopping to rest it at the base of his skull.  He wove his fingers into the other man’s thick, dark, unkempt mane, massaging Bucky’s scalp as they melted together.

Bucky pulled back much to Steve’s chagrin, and brought his flesh and blood hand up to Steve’s face.  He traced Steve’s kiss-swollen lips with the pad of his thumb stared at them hungrily before pressing forward once again to seal them with another kiss.  This time, he prodded the seam of Steve’s mouth with the tip of his tongue.  Steve moaned softly, parting his lips to give Bucky entrance.  Bucky didn’t hesitate.  The moment he licked into Steve’s willing mouth, the flood gates were opened.  All of the Captain’s pent up desires were finally being unleashed.  He surged forward and attacked Bucky’s mouth, sending the other man stumbling backwards until his back hit the built-in ovens with an ‘oof’, the wind knocked out of his lungs on impact.  Steve barely gave him a moment to recover before plundering Bucky’s mouth with his eager tongue.  It was sloppy and wet and completely uncoordinated but Steve had never felt so alive.  Emboldened by both booze and his painfully hard boner, Steve loosened his grip around Bucky’s waist and slid his big, warm hands down and over the firm, rounded globes of Bucky’s ass.  He squeezed them firmly with his calloused fingers, pulling Bucky’s hips to his own.  He hissed into the brunet’s mouth at the feel of Bucky’s hardened cock pressing against his own through the layers of their clothing.  He was a little pleased and plenty proud that he was the cause of his friend’s obvious arousal.

Bucky reached his mech hand up and rested it on the back of Steve’s thick neck to pull him in closer as they deepened their kiss, urgency giving way to unabashed pleasure.  He rocked his hips forward to grind his erection firmly against Steve’s, pulling a ridiculously high-pitched, squeal of a whine from the usually baritone super soldier.

“You okay there, Cap?” he asked teasingly as he slid his flesh-and-blood hand across the hard planes of Steve’s abs before tracing his fingers lightly over the prominent bulge in the front of Steve’s pants.  Steve’s brain went offline in that moment, unable to comprehend that another human being was touching him there for the first time, let alone the love of his life.  He made a garbled noise in response between heavy, panting breaths.  Bucky pressed down with the heel of his hand and started to massage Steve’s straining cock through the soft, heather grey sweatpants he had on.  He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin beneath Steve’s ear.

“Can I touch you now?” he whispered as he drew Steve’s earlobe into his mouth.  He teased his fingertips along the inside of the soft, elastic waistband of Steve’s pants waiting for permission.  Steve barely managed to nod as he fixed his gaze on Bucky’s hand.  His eyes grew wider, blown black with lust as he watched Bucky’s hand slowly dip beneath his boxers.

Bucky wrapped his fingers around Steve’s massively thick, long member, tightening his grip into a loose fist.  He’d just started to stroke him from base to tip when Steve began to gasp and choke, stunned by the sudden, powerful orgasm that ripped through him.  He thrust his hips forward once as his entire body shook, uttering something that vaguely resembled Bucky’s name as he his cock pulsed hotly in the other man’s hand, coating Bucky’s fingers and the inside of Steve’s pants with an absurd amount of thick, white semen.

“Shit,” Steve giggled, still basking in the inebriated glow of the world’s fastest hand job.  “’M sorry,” he added with a hiccup.  “I didn’t expect that to happen.”

Bucky slowly pulled his sticky hand out and sauntered towards the sink chuckling along the way.  “Yeah?  Well, what’d you think was gonna happen once I started messin’ with that trouser cannon of yours?” he called over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin.

Steve blushed furiously, ducking his head in obvious embarrassment.  “Well, I mean I knew it would happen _eventually_.  Just didn’t think it’d be over that quickly.”  He couldn’t stop the disappointed sigh that escaped from his mouth.

Bucky wiped his now clean hands on the pant legs of his dark grey cargo pants to dry them as he stalked towards Steve.  He stepped up close to him, cupped the side of his face with his right hand and pulled him in for a brief but passionate kiss.  He pulled back just far enough to mumble sweetly against his lips.

“Super soldiers, remember?  We can do this all day,” he said yanking Steve’s hips against his own again.  Steve gasped as Bucky nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, you’re making me… ah…  hard again already,” Steve uttered shakily after Bucky’d just bitten down hard enough on Steve’s swollen lip to draw a drop of blood.  Steve moaned as he looked down to eye Bucky’s rock hard dick, impressively tenting the front of his fitted cargo pants.

“Maybe we should take this party to the other room,” Bucky suggested, nodding towards the couch.  “Probably ain’t the best idea to be naked in a place with open flames and sharp objects.”

Bucky took Steve by the hand and led him out of the kitchen.  They’d barely made it over the threshold before they’d both begun to tear their own clothes off, literally shredding the fabric of their shirts and pants in their haste and throwing the discarded remnants haphazardly around the room.  Once fully naked, they lunged for each other, crashing their lips together between drunken giggles and impatient moans.  When they finally settled into the comfortable cushions, they were lying on their sides, face-to-face, kissing each other breathless as their hands wandered over unchartered expanses of warm skin and hard muscles.  Their legs were tangled together as they rubbed their thick, dripping cocks against one another, reveling in the feeling of skin-on-skin.

When Steve began to writhe so much that he threatened to knock Bucky to the floor, the former-assassin flipped Steve onto his back and climbed over top of him with a practiced ease to increase the pressure and speed of their rutting.  “Fuck,” Steve panted as Bucky pressed him into the couch, caging him in with his sweaty, muscular frame.  “It’s happening again!”

Bucky sucked a bruising mark onto Steve’s fair neck and mused between licks and kisses over the same abused patch of purpling skin, “What is?  World War II?  Pearl Harbor?”

Steve had really wanted to tell his smug, sarcastic friend to ‘fuck off’, but in that particular moment, the only sound he was capable of making was an animalistic grunt that sounded like it was punched from his lungs as he arched his back off of the cushions and came for a second time.

Bucky slid down a little to suck on one of Steve’s pebbled, hard nipples as he humped his still hard cock against Steve’s strong, thick thigh, waiting for the blond to recover from his latest release.

“Doesn’t it feel good for you?” Steve asked quietly a few moments later, his brow furrowed with concern.

“’Course it does,” Bucky replied.  “I literally just jerked off in the shower like ten minutes before I walked into the kitchen.  If I’da known there was a snowball’s chance in hell I’d _actually_ be doin’ what I was only _thinkin’_ about doin’ while I was rubbin’ one—okay, two—out then, I would’ve made the water colder and kept my hands above my waist.”

Steve gave Bucky the dopiest grin the brunet had ever seen.  His October-sky blue eyes were twinkling with pure happiness and glistening with unshed tears.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably for a moment, stilling his hips as he studied Steve’s face.  “You’re not gonna cry are you?” he asked cautiously.  “I’m not really sure I can handle that right now.”

Steve barked a loud laugh and began to wrestle with Bucky.  They wrangled around like two clumsy puppies until they rolled to a stop with Bucky seated in the center of the couch and Steve straddled over his lap.

“God, you’re such a jerk!” Steve chortled, catching his breath.  “First, you make my day by telling me you think about me when you masturbate and then you go and say something stupid and totally ruin the moment.”

“I was worried you were gonna ruin my boner,” Bucky teased.

Steve looked down at Bucky’s waist and his seemingly ever-hard dick, shook his head in amused disbelief and recited the other man’s words.  “Super soldiers, remember?”

“Yup,” Bucky answered.  “I got plenty left in the tank tonight, Rogers.  If you think you can get me off,” he dared, a devilish glint in his eyes.

Yeah, Bucky knew how to push all of Steve’s buttons and Steve fucking loved him for it.  Never one to back down from a challenge, Steve stood up only to drop right back down on his knees between Bucky’s widespread thighs.

Bucky cocked one eyebrow up in amused surprise, waiting to see what Steve would do next.

Steve licked his lips, took a deep breath, and winced with uncertainty like a man preparing to take an impossible leap over a vast and fiery chasm.

“Steve,” Bucky said with sudden seriousness.  “You don’t have to do anyth—”

He choked on the rest of his words as he watched Steve grab his cock with unfounded confidence and tip it towards his tempting mouth.  He breathed hotly over the red, swollen, head that was glossy with precum before pressing his soft, plush lips to it with an obscenely hot kiss.

“Oh my god,” Bucky huffed, struggling to keep his body still.

Buoyed by Bucky’s reaction, Steve began to lick and kiss all over Bucky’s cock, stroking him firmly between each fresh assault.

Bucky raked his blunt fingernails over Steve’s scalp, chanting Steve’s name and moaning encouragement.

“Ah…Steve, Steve, Steve…” he breathed as the blond grew bolder, sucking the engorged tip fully into his mouth.

“Captain,” Jarvis stated calmly.

Steve paused for just a moment before resuming his ministrations and relishing the taste and feel of Bucky on his tongue.

“Oh yeah, Stevie… just like that,” Bucky urged as he thrust his hips up gently.  “You’re doing so good; feels so amazing.”

“Captain,” Jarvis interrupted again.  “Your food is beginning to burn.”

Steve paused and turned his head away to look over his shoulder and into the kitchen.  With no visible sign of smoke or flames, he turned back to Bucky with a hesitant look on his face.  Bucky canted his hips to thrust his into dick into Steve’s fist and pleaded, “Please.  Don’t stop now, I’m so close.”

Steve eyes grew darker with barely contained lust as he returned to his task with renewed vigor.  He closed his eyes and focused all of his concentration on giving Bucky pleasure.  Repeating the motions and maneuvers that earned the loudest gasps and moans from his lover.

“Captain,” Jarvis tried again.

“Fuck, Steve!” Bucky growled as his orgasm approached.

“Captain?”

Steve hummed loudly around the thick, hard cock in his mouth and continued to ignore the A.I.’s increasingly urgent interruptions.

Bucky slammed his head against the back of the sofa and tightened his grip on Steve’s head.  He reflexively pushed Steve’s head down, forcing him to take more of Bucky’s long, thick shaft than he’d had to that point.  Steve gagged a little but made no effort to back away as he adjusted his throat and hollowed his cheeks.

“Captain!  Your meatloaf is on fire!” Jarvis exclaimed.

“So is mine!” Bucky shouted.  “Oh god, Steve.  I’m gonna cum!”

“Right,” Jarvis uttered, an unmistakable tone of exasperation that was usually reserved for addressing his maker tainting his normally neutral voice.  “I'll just disable the oven on my own then..."

Bucky yanked Steve’s head away a second before his climax hit.  In an effort to spare Steve from having to swallow his abundant release, he’d managed instead to cum all over the dazed soldier’s face.  Steve grimaced for a moment until he saw the utterly contented, happy look on his satiated partner’s face.  He grabbed one of their ruined t-shirts off of the floor and hastily wiped away the mess before pulling himself up to slouch on the sofa next to Bucky.

“Now what?” he asked looking down at his once again, fully erect cock.  Bucky looked down at it as well and chuckled.

“How ‘bout we order a pizza?  And then I’ll have _you_ for dessert.”

“Ya know,” Steve started with a mischievous grin on his face.  “You used to like to eat your dessert _before_ supper back in the day...”

Bucky slid down to the floor, settling himself between Steve’s legs.

“Seems like somethin’ I’d do,” he replied with a smirk as he leaned in to suck Steve down.

 

**Epilogue**

The next morning Clint and Natasha stood in the kitchen of the common area, sipping coffee, Clint wearing the shorts and ratty old cut-off t-shirt he slept in and Natasha wrapped in a giant fuzzy pink bathrobe with matching fuzzy pink bunny slippers.  Clint was yammering on about something or other but Natasha wasn’t paying attention.  The whole of her energies were focused on her coffee, and the process of filling her body with as much of it as she could ingest.  She was decidedly not a morning person.

“Friend Clint!  Milady Natasha!  Good morn to ye!” bellowed Thor as he bounded into the kitchen.  All the god had on was a pair of bright yellow boxer-briefs so tight they looked painted on.

“You want coffee, big guy?” Clint asked.

“Verily!” Thor answered.  “Much thanks.”  He stood with his legs apart, his fists on his hips, in a very heroic stance.  “It is a glorious new day indeed,” he announced.

Natasha looked past her coffee to the Norse Adonis before her.  Specifically at the unwieldy bulge that stretched down the length of his inner thigh.  Clearly, Mjolnir wasn’t the only hammer-like weapon Thor brandished.  “Hey Thor, remember how you used to walk around here naked in the mornings until Tony bought you all those boxer briefs and explained the concept of underwear to you?” she asked.

“Verily I do,” he answered, still smiling.

“I think it might be time we incorporated a bathrobe into your morning routine as well.”

“Yeah dude,” Clint added, “your dong is wildly distracting.  And frankly, it’s giving all the other guys around here a complex.  I swear that thing was the real impetus behind Tony building the Hulk-Buster armor.”

“I hope for Jane’s sake you’re not into anal,” said Natasha.

“How do you think she blows him?” Clint asked her.  “Do you think she can detach her jaw, like a snake?”

“Fucking him is always a threesome,” she said.  “His cock is like a third person in the room.”

Thor, oblivious to their assertions, studied Natasha’s fuzzy pink bathrobe.  “Could I have a robe like yours?” he asked.

“Whatever you want, big guy.”

“With matching slippers?”

“Verily,” she replied dryly.  “The bathrobe doesn’t even work without the slippers.”

“This is most excellent,” Thor enthused.  Clint handed him a steaming hot cup of coffee, which he downed in one giant gulp, the heat of the liquid not even registering to him.

“More?” Clint asked, used to such displays now.

“Verily!” Thor happily commanded, returning the mug.

As Clint poured another cup of coffee Steve lurched into the room, like an All-American zombie in a plain white t-shirt and faded pin-striped boxers.

“Good morning, Friend Steve!” Thor announced.

“Please don’t shout,” Steve mumbled.  He weakly stumbled straight to the refrigerator and began taking out bottles of Gatorade.

“You want coffee, Cap?” Clint asked.  Normally Steve was the first one up by a few hours, and had made coffee for everyone else.

“No coffee,” he whispered.  “Just Gatorade.  Lots of Gatorade.”

“Jesus, what’d you get into last night?” Clint asked.

“That is the countenance of a man felled by Asgardian Ale,” Thor answered, bemused at his struggling comrade.  “I take it the Ale succeeded in its intended effects.  Did it likewise make your endeavors successful?”

“I’m never drinking again,” Steve groaned, arms full of Gatorade.

“Ha!  That’s a phrase heard often in the halls of Asgard.  And one that’s always proved a lie.”

“Wait, is that a hickey on your neck?” asked Natasha.

“Whoa, that IS a hickey,” Clint confirmed.

Steve turned as red as his shield.  “Why are you even here?” He said, attempting to change the subject.  “Don’t you randomly have a wife and kids now as part of your backstory?  Shouldn’t you be with them?”

“If you had a bunch of screaming kids running around like a herd of tiny Hulks constantly destroying all the nice things you own you’d know why I’m constantly here,” Clint replied, before noticing a weird glob of something on the side of Steve’s head.  “Hey, what the hell is that stuck in your hair?”

Instead of answering, Steve lowered his head and wandered sheepishly out of the room, his walk of shame slowed as he tried to balance the armfuls of Gatorade.

“Who’d he fuck, Goldilocks?” Clint asked Thor once Steve was gone, correctly surmising the god had some hand in Steve’s condition.

“An honorable man cannot betray the confidences of his friend,” Thor replied.

“I bet he fucked Bucky,” said Natasha.

“No way!” Clint yelled.  “You think?”

“Either Steve got drunk and finally worked up the courage to make a move on Bucky, or Bucky got Steve drunk and fucked him.  And since Thor here obviously gave Steve the Asgardian Ale, clearly Steve was the one making the move.”

“Your wisdom knows no bounds, Lady Natasha,” Thor said, impressed.

“Yeah, that’s kinda my thing,” she said as she sipped her coffee.  “Rudimentary deductions are like Spy School 101.”

“If they get married I bet Sam is Cap’s best man,” Clint reasoned.  “Bucky would’ve been the best man, but he’s already the bride.”

“I’m going to start sucking up to Bucky so I can be maid of honor,” said Natasha.  “This’ll probably be my only chance.  Although I don’t think Wanda has any friends.  Maybe she’ll get married and be in desperate need of my maid of honor services.”

“I hope the reception is adults only,” said Clint.  “And regardless of who’s who in the wedding party, I can tell you who won’t be best man: Tony.  It’s like those two have a civil war going on or something.”

“Fuckin’ verily,” Natasha agreed.

“Fuckin’ verily,” echoed Thor and Clint.

“Fuckin’ verily,” added Jarvis, randomly.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really fun to write so thanks for the prompt starbucksXlove!
> 
> Getting back to work on "Trained on You" and another fic I've got in the works at the request of a friend featuring Black Widow/Sif/Loki that I hope to post soon. In the meantime, I'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts about this story. I love hearing from my readers! Your comments are always welcome, appreciated, and consumed like candy... quickly, ravenously, and with a giant smile on my face :-)


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